


Regress

by Hyacinthium



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Type, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Dream Sex, Grinding, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthium/pseuds/Hyacinthium
Summary: Shuichi always has dreams of varying lucidity. Nightmares, nonsensical things, flying. But there is only one kind of dream that he hates.Purple eyes first. Then black hair with that black uniform, a ghost that he's never met.





	Regress

**Author's Note:**

> Sudden inspiration equals this.

He's dreaming. He knows this well enough, because Shuichi always knows when he's sleeping. The soft filter of unreality is always obvious. No matter how robust or vivid or consistent with the waking world; Saihara Shuichi is lucid. Beneath him is silky-smooth fabrics belonging to a bed he's never been in before. Against him is the cloth of his uniform. Though, he hasn't even looked at the thing for a good year now. 

That's not why he's keeping his eyes closed. 

Faint touches from nervous hands grace his thighs. Shyly, those uncertain hands caress him as if he's precious artwork. A body springs into being with a fumbling crawl forward. Small and almost cowardly in its weight, and yet the dip of the mattress betrays more than any latent trembling. 

A plain and black uniform. Barely any white to be seen. He can see it, Shuichi can always know, despite his eyes being closed. This is a dream after all. Black hair with bare hints of purple eyes, wide eyes unable to cease their rapid glances. 

“S-saihara?” comes a small sound, a voice low and quiet. Familiar in that such hesitancy feels unnatural to hear from it. 

It's a voice that Shuichi hasn't heard in a long time. 

Eyes already opening and body lifting up- Shuichi finds himself looking down at the boy in between his legs. An array of purple hues, tints, and shades look up at him. They hold a purely naive and fondly desperate look to them. It combines with wobbly lips to make a smile capable of causing illness. Yet Shuichi can't bring himself to try and force the dream to change. After all, this isn't just a dream. 

Ouma Kokichi loves to haunt Saihara Shuichi within the foggy realm of dreams and memories. 

“You should at least touch it. I mean, well, you enjoyed my mouth right?” Shuichi feels himself say. Firm and commanding before crumbling at the mere possibility of hurt feelings. “Ouma has… talked about wanting to do this a lot.”

Shuichi isn't too sure about what his past self means by that. This Ouma is always so full of nervousness to the point of seeming like an abused animal. As if the most gentle touch would make him flinch. It's certainly part of why Shuichi despised the first of these dreams. Why he still hates them, even though his right hand is resting on the other boy's head. Rubbing gently into feather soft hair, gold eyes trained on how Ouma's face relaxes and how his body struggles to stay tense. The boy is preening at the comforting praise. Indeed, Ouma soon melts against Shuichi’s thigh. 

To have one's entire preconceptions shattered is loathsome. So he hates them. Despises these sliced up memories that doctors ensure him are real. Otherwise Shuichi would try to grab them, crave them, want more of this oddly wholesome relationship between two disasters. 

“Do… do you want to stop here, Ouma?” Shuichi asks despite it being the wrong thing. 

Whining slightly, with no rights to sound so endearing, “No!”

Ouma glares up at him with a growing flush. The boy fidgets and pulls himself up into Shuichi's lap. Immediately, their tented pants rub into one another. A pair of hisses escape them both, Ouma starting to rapidly grind his hips forward. He's tense with something utterly carnal. Determined too. 

All Shuichi can do his let his arms wrap around that waist. The boy marvels at the friction he can't quite feel. Instead, he squeezes down on Ouma’s lithe body and wishes to will away the dark fabric hiding pale skin. But he hates these dreams. Shuichi hates all of them, but he'll admit that it's more a construction of apathy, but he'll admit he hates the ones where Ouma cries the second most. There is nothing more capable of forcing him awake than the sight of this vulnerable spector covered in pink and blood. 

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I don't want to stop, I'm being honest-” Ouma cries out as Shuichi grabs onto him more securely. “I want to do more tha-ahn let Saihara touch me. God, I'm usel- mmph?”

Kissing this Ouma is always slow, gentle, but right now Shuichi can only witness something almost brutal. It feels like he's plundering the boy's mouth. Fucking it with his tongue while they grind together. The slick muscles rub together, one surprised, and Shuichi’s lips can feel gasps of warm air. It's easy to feel how eager Ouma is to submit. To have control taken away. Exactly the opposite of what he became. All the same, Ouma is the one to near smash their mouths together. 

Meals shared and so many chaste kisses given. Yet Shuichi knows well enough that his past self has craved something more like this. Ouma’s hands attach to his shoulders with an unexpected strength. Like a signal, making them part in an instant. 

“Fuck me, oh, please I just want you to fuck me you don't have to be sorry!” hurried words and hitched breathing fall between their lips. 

Saliva is falling too- and Shuichi’s tongue idly laps up the drool on Ouma’s chin. 

It gains him a delighted shudder and purple eyes glazing over. Ouma hesitantly pokes his tongue out, making a noise when Shuichi starts sucking on it. Fully erect, thoughts about this sensitive tongue worshipping his cock fly through his head. Maybe he should see if Ouma can get off with just his mouth. Maybe they don't need to navigate around the boy's strangenesses about sex. They're both legal adults, and soon society won't be able to tell them what-

Blinking and pulling away, Shuichi stares at the panting thing in his lap. Grinding has evolved into an intent yet shallow thrusting. It feels like an amazing torture. 

Ouma is staring at him with half lidded eyes, dazed and breathing heavily, jaw slack with pink lips and pink tongue. Keen despite all the lust swimming within each part of him. Pure elation making the corners of his sloppy mouth pull into an obscene smile. 

This Ouma… isn't naive after all. Not like this. 

Not when he's looking at Shuichi the way the devout look at God. 

Shuichi’s hips still and his head cocks, “Do you want anyone else to touch you? 

Ouma whimpers and shakes his head. 

“Do you want only me to touch you?”

A nod and groaning. 

“But touching me is different… it's okay though,” Shuichi struggles to say different from what the memories demand, not wanting to see that hint of wetness become a different kind of tear. “I understand why Ouma is like this. But, ah! I- I really really love Kokichi so I'm-”

Heat crashes down on him like punishment for trying to change the memory into more of a dream. Disgusting, horrible, painfully hated dreams. Shuichi wishes he could just wake up already. The longer it goes on the harder it gets. All the hints of pale skin from the hemmed uniform, teasing peaks of ankle and wrist, Shuichi feels dirty for wanting to see more than Ouma is ready for. But Shuichi knows that he has. They're going to get there, their destination of Ouma’s goal happens soon enough. Just another dream and memory. 

Crying and begging as Ouma holds onto him far too lovingly. Soft words paired with perfect promises. 

The frantically hopeful boy that Shuichi loves is dead. 

And just like that, the fact cuts through whatever remnants of his old self there is. For a moment- Shuichi finds himself staring at a him wearing a school blazer with a striped blue tie. Perhaps he's always been watching. Perhaps everything has only ever been Shuichi’s doing. Perhaps the desire to turn those gentle head rubs into tight gripped pulling isn't the memory, but what Shuichi wants to dream. 

Horror and absolute heartbreak is the only thing Shuichi sees in mirrored gold eyes before his own open. 

Open, unblinking, filter of fog gone as he forces his body up to fiddle with a lamp. The switch is hard to find. Pushes through, like a peg that triggers doors. Light flickers on and reveal the plain bedroom he sleeps in, the perfectly normal cotton of his sheets. Not silky-smooth in the least. Shuichi, Maki, and Himiko are too frugal to spend their money like that. 

Shuichi’s body sinks back into his mattress. He's hard but hates the idea of continuing. Even if he can conjour up exactly what he wants to see. The image of Ouma grinning down innocently. Overjoyed and babbling about how happy he is, how it doesn't hurt, straddling Shuichi as they go all the way for the first time. Bouncing and making those precious expressions full of wonder and love. 

It feels disgusting, but it's a truth that Shuichi can't escape. Which is exactly why it's terrible. 

Saihara Shuichi of now never really understood the Ouma Kokichi next to him, and all he can do is hunger for one that's dead two times over. Yearn for someone whose body remained as another person. Delicately ignore that he's the same. 

“I'm horrible…” the boy admits, hands shielding open eyes from the glare of a white ceiling.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry QWQ


End file.
